


Ruinous

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Porn, Baby Boy, Barebacking, Dean/OFC mention, M/M, Pre-Series, Sibling Incest, Underage Sex, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 08:12:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8242468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: How do you break something you've built?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sam is 17 here but there are vague mentions of much younger (of course there are).

How do you break something you've built?  
  
By the time Dad gets to Phoenix Sam’s split his brother’s lip, sucked his dick twice, and eaten three cans of Chef Boyardee with a plastic spoon.  There’s a line between fucking and fighting that Dean lost months ago, somewhere between a thick envelope tucked in Sam’s stolen Jansport and the taste of blood mingling with Sam’s come in his mouth.  Blood’s thicker than water, but some nights, nights like this when Sam fights him like a wet cat just to come at him like a bitch in heat, Dean misses the tickle-trickle of Sam’s too-thin boyloads on his tongue.

Sam got bored with just getting his dick sucked before he grew his first puny mustache hairs.  It's Dean's fault, not like there was anyone else around to spoil him.  
  
The belly swell that used to haunt Dean is flatter under his tongue now, trailed with a stripe of hair that Dean'll never name the taste of quite right. It'll haunt him, too.  
  
Sam's bigger everywhere, bigger than Dean can cup in his hands and hold onto any more. Sam can beat him square in a fight and those are the bruises Dean loves best sometimes. Sometimes not. Can you be proud and spiteful all at once?  
  
There's new parts of him every day, vast expanses of thigh for Dean to christen as his own. A back that ruins old jackets and boxes out the light when he stands in Dean's doorway, looking at Dean while they both pretend he's asleep.  
  
Deans cup isn't the only one runnething over.  
  
Dean’s the one who loves food but Sam eats like there's no tomorrow. Tomorrow, Dean’s least favorite day.  
  
Sam's growing leaps and bounds but Dean’s still older. Sam had blown his load twice before Dean had even cut a tight squeeze over his own nuts to stave himself off.  
  
That was two hours ago.  
  
Dean’s almost-first time, he'd jizzed himself so fast he never counted it. A MILF before they'd had the word with tired eyes and a string of ex-husbands, she'd stroked his freshman hair and smiled while he stammered.  
  
"Nothing to be 'shamed of, Dean. Sex is..."  
  
She'd smiled, dreamy eyed and young again for someone other than Dean and his one minute wonder of a dick.  
  
"Sex is magic, Dean. Only thing I ever heard of could make time stand still."  
  
The seconds tick against Dean’s skin and his dick aches. Older than Sam and finally old enough to legally purchase his usual at a cross country stretch of local bars, Dean’s still not made of stone and there's not much left to squeeze from him.  
  
He's come three times and his dick aches but it's the good kind of pain. Time can't move when all you can do is hold on.

Sam’s splayed out whore-wide on the bed, ass up in the air and his pugnacious dignity lost somewhere in his spunk flecked sheets.  He’s wild-eyed, hands tug-tugging at the worn old coverlet and his lip swelled fat where Dean had kissed him too hard too many times.  That swan neck arched back, that public grace Dean finds more tempting than all the private parts only Dean gets to see.  It’s a mess of hickeys now, just like the rest of him.

Dean echoes his mouth onto a heart-shaped spot on Sam’s thigh, right in the tender part beneath the swell of his ass.  He gets a hiss, a shift of Sam’s hips, and a boy-warm trickle of his own come trying to escape Sam’s body.  Kiss it back, kiss it better, Dean chases it flat-tongued over salt fucked skin, baby taste long gone.  Sam can fucking sweat.

“Fuck, Dean, yeah.”

It’s the only time Dean’s name doesn’t sound like a fight lately.  A little high, a little whiny, a little brother sound that Dean could swallow whole. 

Dean reaches up to find Sam’s hands waiting for him at the small of his back.  Sam’s wrists haven’t fit in one of Dean’s hands since well before the fights started, bones bursting bigger and bigger under misfit skin long before Sam discovered secrets and scholarships and schools that Dad doesn’t know about.

Dean squeezes, hard, gives a big brother jerk to Sam’s braceleted wrists that makes Sam snarl like a bitch.  His locked and loaded little brother could break his nose in three seconds but he just moans, spreads his legs, trickles out another drop of driven snow sweetness from the biggest secret they’ll ever keep.  Dean’s taken kicks in the nuts that hurt less.

Sam’s a bruise of a boy, blooming green-blue-indigo-violet under Dean’s skin.

“You want another load?”

Sam’s legs are shaking when he begs _Yes_.

~

“Need to go, Sammy?”

Dean’s forearm tops a T on Sam’s ballerina throat, pressed in until Sam’s breath hitches.  He’s got his knee digging nasty into Sam’s upper thigh, right into that kiss-throb artery Dean’s tongue memorized years ago.  It’s all swagger, empty, just like all of Dean’s threats.  Sam could throw him off and make him regret it.

Sam used to disappear under him.  Dean’d slip inside him flutter quiet and take him underwing, fucking Sam hush fast while his bird bones trembled and his mouth huffed out fuck-me-feed-me squeaks.  Sam grunts like a man now, _Harder, Dean, fuck me harder harder harder_.

The inside bruises are the hardest ones to heal.

Sam fights him just enough to set Dean’s teeth on edge, lips curled back as he gets his free hand around his fuck sore dick.  He holds it steady, aiming, breathing in and out, his chest rising and falling the only real movement between the two of them as Sam’s eyes widen.

“Dean.”

It’s harder than it sounds.  Dean’s spent years holding it in the car.

“Dean.”

“Said you wanted it, Sammy.”

A rush of breath through his nose and there, there it is, sweet release so fast it startles him and splashes onto his neck.  God it feels fucking good, steady stream of his piss aimed right at Sam’s limp teen dream cock. 

“Dean, Jesus, we’ve gotta,” Sam swallows, his whole face flushed, lips thin as he presses them together.

Dean’s been holding it for hours.  Rivers run down Sam’s waist, drip between his legs, pool by his sides, a boy adrift in time and space with Dean’s body the only thing holding him down.

“Gotta sleep here.”

Dean laughs, ugly.  Yeah.

“Uh-huh.”

He snorts and lets his cock go free as the last bit dribbles out onto Sam’s dick.  It’s not limp any more, fighting bravely to chub up even as Sam pretends to squirm away.  Sam’s cock never lied to him.

“Know you gotta go, Sammy.”

Sam’s sticky-warm where Dean’s hand splays over his belly.  He presses a little, getting a whine he’s never heard out of Sam’s mouth in his life.

“I can’t, Dean, it’s-“

“Come on, baby boy.”

He hasn’t called Sam that in years.

“Piss yourself for me, Sammy.”

Sam’s face, God.  He’s beautiful, lips gasped apart with the kind of anguished thrill that only Dean can give him.  Sam’s rolled his eyes while he has monster blood dripping off his eyelashes, underwhelmed since he was old enough to shave off his first dozen pubes and give Dean a heart attack in a Denny’s bathroom.

There’s dirty you can’t scrub off no matter how hard you try, things that are thicker than blood, things that soak into your bones and follow you everywhere.  There’s so much he can’t give Sam but at least there’s things that no one can take away.

Sam doesn’t close his eyes. 

Dean presses, his lip curling back nasty when Sam whimpers, nostrils flaring.  It’s not like it smells good but Sam’s piss is bodywarm against Dean’s hand.  He always swears Sam is hotter on the inside than the rest of the 98.6 degree Fahrenheit population.  His special boy.

The bed groans with outrage when Dean presses his weight over Sam, covering him and letting their skin kiss wet together.  There’s a softness in Sam’s mouth that Dean eats like a memory, a wisp of boyhood so quickly washed away by the stench blood and salt.  Dean’ll take it, all of it, all the ugly sticky shameful beauty that he can kiss off Sam’s hallowed chest, licking down until he presses his lips to the last clear drop pearling up at the slit of Sam’s dick.  Even that’s gotten bigger, parting for the tippy tip of Dean’s tongue as Sam hisses and half-giggles like he’s half his age all over again.

Dean’s packed a lifetime of sin into a decade of kissing Sam’s secret parts.

Dean sucks him off until they’re dank and chilled and stinking with it, until Sam’s as empty as he is and a curl of adult disgust creeps back into Sam’s face. 

“We can’t sleep on this, Dean, Jesus.”

Sam arches up onto his elbows, wrinkling his nose at the wet slosh of brother-soaked sheets.

“Good thing you’re leaving.”

Dean swallows all the broken things inside him and smiles at his own ruin.

  



End file.
